


Club Quarantine

by charmingwords23



Series: The Quarantine Diaries [1]
Category: Queen of the South (TV)
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Post Season 4, little bit of romance, quarantine au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23482603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmingwords23/pseuds/charmingwords23
Summary: Teresa and her familia have been quarantined in a small house in New York for 15 days. She's not sure they'll make it to day 16.
Relationships: Teresa Mendoza & James Valdez, Teresa Mendoza/James Valdez
Series: The Quarantine Diaries [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695994
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	Club Quarantine

**Author's Note:**

> My friends and I had too much fun coming up with scenarios for what might happen during a quarantine with these 4 characters, so I write it up in fic form. It takes place a few months after the events of the end of season 4. I hope it brings some levity to the otherwise depressing situation the world is in right now, and that you enjoy it! 
> 
> This is my first time trying to write anything for Queen of the South. Be gentle with me when it comes to character voices! I'm still getting the hang of it. :) I have an idea for a follow-up, and since I have nothing but time these days (lol), I just might write it.

Teresa had survived 15 days of quarantine, but she wasn’t sure she’d make it to day 16 at this rate. She sat at the small kitchen island of the small rental home in upstate New York where she’d been crammed together with most of her familia for over two weeks. Her left palm rested against her throbbing temple and the fingers of her right hand drummed aimlessly against the trackpad of her laptop. 

She couldn’t get  _ any _ work done like this. 

“I’m just saying, Kylo Ren was a total badass and anyone who says otherwise can kiss my ass,” George crooned from across the room where he was dancing around the small living room in socks and a robe, cradling a bottle of wine in his arms like his dance partner. 

“Kylo Ren was a  _ cabrón _ ,” Pote grumbled, facing the wall as he chopped up onions with the expertise of a restaurant chef. “No loyalty to his people.” 

George danced his way closer, bumping Teresa’s elbow as he careened around the small space. Teresa let out an irritated breath and shot a glare at her friend. 

16 days ago, she, James, Pote, and George had traveled to New York to do some scouting and investigating for the expansion they had planned. They needed to determine shipping locations (which was why George had come along), establish infrastructure for distribution, and meet with potential clients. They had rented a tiny 3 bedroom house in an inconspicuous location with the expectation that they wouldn’t be here long. 

The next day the governor had issued a stay-at-home order for the entire state of New York. No travel except for supplies and essential business. Unfortunately, Teresa’s budding cocaine empire didn’t count as “essential business.” George had wanted to hightail it back to Louisiana before “shit hit the fan,” as he had put it, but Pote had angrily demanded that they all stay put. One of them could be carrying the virus, he’d claimed, and they could bring it back to Kelly Anne. Teresa had watched George and Pote argue back and forth, her eyes connecting with James who was seated at the kitchen island taking his gun apart, quietly - his normal setting ever since he returned from Devon Finch’s clutches about two months ago. Teresa assumed he was treading lightly, trying not to ruffle any feathers after being reluctantly let back into the family fold, but she couldn’t deny that she missed her old friend. The one who would speak his mind to her when no one else would. The one who wasn’t afraid to say the hard truth. 

The one who lit her skin on fire when he touched her. 

James didn’t offer any words of wisdom or even communicate a preference in this argument. He simply gave her a small nod when she looked to him. He’d do whatever she wanted. 

“Just stop fighting,” Teresa had demanded, silencing George and Pote with her voice. “We’ll stay here for now, and when we’re sure no one is sick and it’s safe, we’ll go home.” 

Pote had grunted in approval while George threw up his hands. “So I guess I’ll have to miss the toga party my boys had planned for next week! Thanks a lot, Chewy!” George had reached behind him to grab the complimentary bottle of wine from the kitchen counter. He started uncorking it and sighed dramatically. “I’ll guess we’ll have to throw our own instead. Do you all think they have enough sheets for everyone to make a toga?”

James had rolled his eyes and gone back to cleaning his gun. Pote had scoffed. Teresa had tried to fight her smile. 

But that was over two weeks ago, and after a fortnight squeezed together in a home best fit for 2 adults, they were all handling quarantine differently. 

George was George. As long as he had the means to throw a party, he’d do so - even when he was the only one in attendance. He was loud, abrasive, and genuinely enjoying himself as far as Teresa could tell. With each passing day, he seemed to wear less clothing around the house, which wasn’t ideal. He claimed he slept naked, so the rest of the group had unanimously agreed he should take one of the bedrooms. 

Pote was stressed. Teresa could see the strain behind his scowl each day as he stress-cooked. He wasn’t used to being confined, and Teresa was sure that being away from Kelly Anne was taking a toll on him. Every time the news mentioned New Orleans as a possible hot spot of disease, Pote would excuse himself from the room. Teresa was sure Kelly Anne would be fine when this was all said and done, but she understood her loyal friend. Helplessness was not in their DNA. 

James had been quiet, but pleasant. He offered to go to the store when they needed something, and he offered to be the one sleeping on the couch since the home offered only 3 small bedrooms. Pote hadn’t needed more than a second to accept the offer, but Teresa had hesitated. It was only a handful of weeks ago that she had held him as he bled from a bullet wound in his gut. When she slept, she still felt her hands covered with his blood, sticky and crimson. She still smelled the scent of metal, sweat, and heat that had been burned into her memory during those moments of crisis. He wouldn’t admit it, but she  _ knew _ he wasn’t back to 100%, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d be sleeping on the couch while she took the last bed in a room the size of a closet. 

Teresa was slowly going crazy. She’d never been the type to idle. As far back as growing up in Culiacan, she’d always known that survival meant  _ work _ . There was no such thing as sitting around in the house doing nothing for 2 weeks. To stop working, to stop being productive, meant death. So now, when it was nearly impossible to get anything done, the moments she  _ could _ find a contact willing to discuss business were constantly interrupted by George blaring his latest party anthem through his bluetooth speaker or Pote yelling at George to “cállate, cabrón!” Teresa had been ripped from the fast-paced routine she set for herself. And without the routine and business to do, all that was left to do was think - a dangerous activity for someone desperately trying to bury ghosts from past and present decisions. 

While Pote and George had gradually started to get under each other’s skin, James appeared fairly unruffled by it all apart from the occasional eye roll or half-smirk. Sometimes Teresa thought his presence was the only thing keeping her sane at this point. They were usually the first two awake and would drink their coffee together on the back porch. They’d had time to really discuss everything that had happened when he left - what she went through, what  _ he  _ went through - and Teresa felt like they were back on solid ground. She trusted him, and she knew deep down, as she had the moment he drove back into her life with a wound and a warning, that she had never stopped trusting him. He’d become an invaluable member of her team again, helping them find a mole within her organization, giving his opinion when asked, and helping to coordinate moves toward expansion with everyone else.

A crash and an expletive jolted Teresa from her reverie of reflection. Pote was red-faced and pointing at the ground with his chef knife. George was doubled over with a hand on the kitchen island, laughing. 

“Pendejo!” Pote accused, turning to brandish his knife in George’s direction. “The enchilada sauce is delicate and cannot be made without the white wine that you just  _ broke _ !”

George howled louder, his face also going red as he clutched his diaphragm and cackled. 

“You think my enchiladas are a fucking joke?!” Pote growled. 

“What’s going on?” James’s hesitant voice came from behind her. She turned to see him staring at the two men in the kitchen, taking stock of every detail of the scene before him with a familiar efficiency. He had on jeans and a white t-shirt, and a towel was slung loosely around his shoulders. Teresa could still see the beads of moisture clinging to his thick, dark hair from his shower. 

“Uh, it said  _ wine _ , compadre! How was I supposed to know it would taste like shit?! Lighten up!” George bellowed. Pote groaned. 

Teresa edged around the corner of the kitchen island to see shards of glass all over the floor, surrounded by a puddle of liquid.

Pote’s eye twitched in anger. “It’s for  _ cooking _ , not drinking, you pinche payaso.” 

Teresa stepped forward on her bare tiptoes to try to carefully reach the dishrag draped over the sink. A hand on her arm stopped her. James looked at her and shook his head. “Go put some shoes on. We’ll get this.” He turned to George. “George, can you calm the fuck down? You’re wearing socks and surrounded by broken glass. Jesus. It’s only 11:30 a.m.”

George hooted and gyrated his hips. “The party goes all day and night in Club Quarantine!” 

“Well now there’s gonna be no food at  _ club quarantine _ thanks to you,” Pote spit out. 

James stepped around them both, the glass crunching under his boots. He grabbed the towel from around his neck and threw it at George. “Don’t move your feet. Soak up the wine and I’ll get the broom.” 

George made a saluting gesture. “Copy that, General James.” 

James rolled his eyes, then walked toward the small closet in the corner of the kitchen. 

Teresa took the opportunity to escape to her miniature bedroom in search of her shoes. She hadn’t worn them in a while. She hadn’t left the house at all except to go for a run with James last week. She decided willingly running wasn’t for her, but he’d continued the exercise routine each morning. She squeezed into the bedroom where there was barely any walking space around the double bed. She bent as far as she could in the space available and fished around under the bed for her ankle boots. When she found them, she slipped them on quickly and headed back toward the main room where she could still hear the boys trading barbs. 

Teresa was a little worried about Pote, if she was being honest. He was usually more easy going than this. The quarantine was getting to her, but she could tell it was also getting to him. 

“It’s fine,” James was peacemaking as he swept up the last of the glass. Pote had gone back to furiously chopping something on the kitchen counter. George was lying on the couch with an arm over his forehead. “I’ll run to the store and get more of what you need, Pote.” 

“I’ll go too,” Teresa added. Getting out of this house was a  _ must _ for her mental health at this point. If she had to listen to Pote and George poking each other for another minute she thought she would scream. 15 days of it was too much. 

James looked at her and she swore she saw a ghost of a smile cross his lips before he blinked it away. “Alright.” 

“Can you all get me some tequila?” George called from the couch.

“No,” Teresa scolded firmly. “Go take a shower, George. You need to sober up before Pote kills you.” 

George laughed. “Why try to kill my buzz, principessa?” 

Teresa only crossed her arms and stared at him. George laughed again and had the decency to look chagrined. “You’re the boss, I guess. Chewy, you didn’t use up all my lavender body wash, right?”

Pote made a rude gesture with his hand that sent George laughing again. Teresa was mildly envious for the millionth time since the quarantine began at George’s ability to have fun in any situation. It was rare to find something that could truly get him down. And while it was driving her and her housemates crazy, she also loved him for it. 

“You ready?” James asked from beside her. He had dumped the last of the glass into the trash can and grabbed his leather jacket from the back of a nearby barstool. 

Teresa nodded and followed him out. 

* * *

For a city under orders to stay at home, the grocery store was surprisingly crowded. James weaved the SUV they’d rented upon arrival through the parking lot. He pulled into a space Teresa would have assumed was too small for the vehicle, but he parked it effortlessly. They exited the car, and the warm spring breeze and open air was like a bandaid to her soul. Teresa had never considered herself much of an outdoors person, but after being confined to the house for two weeks, she had a newfound respect and appreciation for the precious commodity of fresh air. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, soaking in the warm pricks of sunlight against her skin and savoring the slight tickle of strands of her hair as they blew against her neck and face. 

When she opened her eyes, James was looking at her with a knowing smirk. 

“Now you know one reason I run every day,” he teased. 

Teresa tilted her head. “What’s the other reason?” 

James shrugged. “I don’t have many other options for physical therapy, do I?” 

Teresa felt a lead weight drop into her stomach. She  _ knew _ he wasn’t all the way healed like he claimed. She  _ knew  _ it! “James, are you still hurt from -”

“I’m fine,” he interrupted, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “I just meant I have to find a way to get back in shape. Now, let’s get in there and see if there’s any cooking wine left or if we have to go home and face a murderous Pote empty handed.” He started walking toward the entrance, Teresa falling into step beside him. 

Teresa laughed. “You know if they don’t have it we’ll have to go to another store, right?”

James huffed an affirmation. No one wanted to face an angry Pote who’s lunch dish had been ruined. 

When they reached the entrance, Teresa started to grab a basket before James extended an arm in front of her to block her. 

“What are you doing?” he asked with raised eyebrows. She looked at him quizzically, and he nodded toward the Clorox wipe dispenser beside the baskets. “Don’t touch it until you’ve wiped it down. I promised Pote I’d make sure you did it.” 

Teresa smiled and shook her head, but she took the Clorox wipe without arguing and began wiping off the plastic basket. It really was in their best interest that none of them got sick. James was only recently recovered from an abdominal bullet wound, George  _ certainly _ had liver damage to some degree, and Pote didn’t always keep the healthiest diet and habits. She would never want to endanger her family by bringing something home to them. 

In fact, lately she’d even started getting a sick feeling in her gut when James went out to get supplies for them. She should be the one going out, not him. Who knows if his system was compromised somehow after his injury? Plus, he’d been an occasional smoker for as long as she’d known him. If he caught this virus, he could - 

“Teresa, I think that’s good enough.” She could tell by his voice that he was trying not to laugh. She refocused on what she was doing and saw she had lathered so much of the sanitizing substance on the handle that it left a white foam behind. 

“Can’t be too careful,” she shrugged, throwing him a smile. He looked amused. She grabbed the newly purified basket, and they walked into the store. 

Smells of warm, fresh baked bread assaulted her senses as they entered near the bakery. On impulse, she veered for the bakery. She heard James mutter “what?” behind her as he rushed to catch up. 

“Let’s bring something sweet back for everyone to lighten their spirits,” Teresa suggested, working her way to the bakery counter. “Maybe a cake?”

“You want to bring them a cake?” James asked, skepticism obvious in his voice. 

“Why not?”

“Can I help you?” a middle-aged woman asked from behind the counter. There was a plastic partition hanging from the ceiling, separating her from the patrons, but her voice could be heard easy enough. Teresa scanned the cakes in the display. 

“Hi,” she said sweetly to the woman, “my friend and I want a cake to take home.”

The woman’s eyes flickered to James and lingered. “Friend?” The woman blinked, still staring at him. She felt James shift beside her, and she narrowed her eyes at the baker. Really? This woman, who looked a decade or two older than Camila, was checking him out while Teresa was  _ right there _ ? 

“Yes,” Teresa snapped, placing her hand on James’s forearm. “ _ My _ friend. So do you have chocolate cake? A quarter sheet should be big enough.”

The baker blinked and tore her gaze to Teresa, her cheeks coloring slightly. “Oh, of course. We already have one made up if you’re ok with vanilla icing.” 

“That’s fine,” Teresa responded curtly. She felt James’s eyes on her, but refused to look at him. 

“Do you want any special messages on it?” The baker asked, starting to write down the order on a small notepad. 

Teresa stepped forward and beckoned for the pad of paper. “It’s a surprise,” she said calmly. The woman passed the pad and a new pen through the window in the plastic divider, and Teresa jotted down the perfect cake caption. She handed it back to the baker who read it and nodded. “We have a few other things to pick up. Will it be ready soon?”

“Give me about 15 minutes to add the message on the icing, then it will be good to go. You can pay now, if you like,” the baker assured her. 

Teresa nodded. “Thanks.” She handed the woman a few cash bills, to which the woman grimaced but accepted, and then waited for her change. When the exchange was over and Teresa finally turned to look at James, she saw him staring at her curiously. “What?” she blinked, tearing her eyes away from his knowing face. 

He shook his head and smiled. “Nothing.” 

Since James had been back, their friendship had returned, but Teresa would be an idiot to forget that friendship wasn’t all they had had. When he left, there was a crater-sized hole in her heart that she hadn’t fully expected. She had known she cared about him. She had known that when he said he was leaving it had hurt worse than when she was shot in the leg. But she hadn’t known that the pain would  _ linger _ . She hadn’t known that, apparently, James was stuck with her so deeply that when he left, a part of her did too.

She’d spent months trying to fill the void - with business, with distractions, with attempting a “normal” life that she wasn’t even convinced she  _ wanted _ \- but the closest she felt to content was the day he sped up to her warehouse and warned her of an impending threat. 

But while they had tentatively rebuilt their trust and their friendship, Teresa hadn’t let herself consider rebuilding anything beyond that. Missing his touch, his lips, his arms embracing her after a long day - it was almost too much the first time. If she went there again and he left a second time, even if it was to protect her again, would she survive it? She was a survivor to her core, and ignoring the way her flesh burned when it brushed against his or the way her heart pounded painfully when he looked at her was purely a  _ survival instinct _ . 

James led the way through different aisles of the store, grabbing a few items here and there and setting them in the basket she was carrying. He told her how the last time he’d been at the store, all the bread, pasta, and toilet paper were gone. Thankfully, they’d been restocked. They moved around the store, careful to keep an appropriate distance between themselves and other shoppers. When they got to the canned goods, James consulted the list Pote texted him and then grabbed two large cans of pizza sauce. Instead of placing them in the basket, which was starting to fill up, he wordlessly took it from Teresa (she was thankful...it was starting to get heavy, if she was honest). 

“Ok, I think that just leaves the cooking wine and some ground beef,” James confirmed, after glancing at his phone. “The meat is close.” 

Teresa followed a half a step behind him as they approached the fresh meat section. They scanned through the labels and found the beef products. There was one package left. James reached for it, but as he was about to place it in the basket, it was snatched from his hand. He and Teresa looked up at the same time to see a woman shoving the ground beef into her overflowing cart of food. 

James raised an eyebrow at the woman. 

“Hey!” Teresa gritted out angrily. “You can’t just take that out of his hand.” 

The woman started wheeling her cart away. “It’s a pandemic. Watch me,” she threw over her shoulder. 

Teresa’s mouth fell open in shock. “Are you kidding me?” she whispered, mostly to herself. She turned to look at James, who had a hand over his mouth and jaw, stifling quiet laughter. “You’re laughing?”

James ran his hand over his face and shrugged, maintaining a slight smile. “People have lost their minds. It’s a little funny.” 

Teresa smashed her lips together to try not to laugh too. She watched James shake his head and reach for some ground turkey instead.  _ He’s cute when he laughs _ , she thought fleetingly.

“Alright, let’s grab the wine, grab your cake, then get the hell out of here,” James joked. 

Teresa had no objection to that. They made quick work of locating the cooking wine Pote needed, and then made their way to the checkout lanes. Teresa and James chose a lane, then stood behind the fluorescent pink tape on the floor that marked the 6 feet social distance that was supposed to be kept between customers. There were two other customers in front of them, and with the 6 feet separation, that meant the line snaked awkwardly around a shelf. 

“I want the cake to be a surprise, so after we pay for these, I’ll go get it,” Teresa asserted. 

“Now I’m really curious,” James wondered aloud, giving her another amused smile. He’d been smiling more recently. She liked it. 

Teresa smiled back. “You’ll have to wait for the reveal like everyone else.” 

“Are you sure you don’t just want to pick it up yourself so that the woman in the bakery doesn’t have another chance to stare at me?” 

Heat pooled in her cheeks. “No, and I’m not sure why anyone would stare at you anyway. You might have imagined that,” she teased, staring directly into his warm brown eyes. 

“Is that so?” 

“It is.” 

“You know,” he started. He blinked. He didn’t stop looking at her. Her chest was starting to feel funny. “She was kind of cute for an older woman. They say fifty is the new thirty.” 

“No they don’t, and she was at least sixty.” 

James huffed out a laugh, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corner in delight. There was something in his eyes she hadn’t seen in a while. It looked a lot like hope.

Before she could say anything else, his eyes had snapped over her shoulder and his smile was replaced with a scowl. Her eyebrows furrowed as she turned to see what had grabbed his attention. A man with a case of beer and a handful of wadded cash bills had joined the line behind her.  _ Right  _ behind her. 

“Hey man,” James said, his voice sounding like it was carved from steel. “You’re too close. Get behind your line back there.” James gestured to the tape on the floor six feet away with his free hand. 

The man rolled his eyes. “You snowflakes are all the same. Where I stand isn’t your business.” 

Uh oh. Teresa recognized the look coming over James’s face. She’d seen it when they worked for Camila and he would take her on drug runs. She’d seen it when they’d met with La Comision in Phoenix, during their adventure stealing her own money in Malta, and during their harrowing ordeal in Bolivia. James was preparing for a fight. 

James’s jaw twitched. “You see her?” James said, motioning toward Teresa now. “To me, it looks like you’re standing within six feet of her, which absolutely is my business. So back up.” 

The man huffed and flexed his arm - apparently thinking it made him look intimidating. He had no idea who he was talking to. “I’ll stand where I want. Try and make me move.” 

Teresa’s hand shot out to rest on James’s bicep. “James,” Teresa whispered, recognizing the switch had been flipped for him and he was moments away from losing control. She saw his fingers twitch and she knew it was a tic he developed after spending so much time holding a gun. 

“That’s right, listen to your illegal girlfriend before this turns into something and I call ICE,” the man taunted. 

Teresa whipped around. “Excuse me?” she demanded at the same time as James growled, “What the fuck did you just say?” 

“You heard me.” The idiot was enjoying himself. Obviously the quarantine had done a number on his mental well-being as well since he appeared to have lost his self-preservation skills. 

Teresa stepped in front of a very tense James. She leveled a glare at the man that would make some men cry. “Where I come from and what my legal status is, is none of your concern.” Her eyes flickered to the wad of money in his hand. Even wadded up like that, she could spot the abnormalities in the bills a mile away. “But if you’re so worried about whether or not I’m breaking the law, why don’t we go ahead and call the authorities? I’m sure they’d be very interested in the counterfeit money you’re holding.” 

The man’s mouth fell open. Teresa smirked and turned back to James. “Come on, there’s space to move up a line.” She patted her hand against his chest, and he finally took his eyes off the man for long enough to give her a look. She saw the pride in his eyes and noticed him resign to letting it go when his shoulders relaxed a fraction. She took the basket out of his hand and stepped around him to move up in line, confident he’d follow. 

Until-

“ _ Bitch _ .” She heard the word muttered behind her and she also knew the moment she’d lost James and he’d stepped directly in front of the man. 

“I’m going to warn you up front right now: you so much as breathe in her direction and she gets sick? I’m coming for you.” James’s voice was low and lethal, a tone he usually reserved for business settings under dire circumstances. “In fact, if you say another word to her, you’ll need to sleep with one eye open because I’ll find you.” 

“Is that a threat?” the man yelled in an exaggerated voice. 

James didn’t move. “Count on it.” 

“You have problems, man!” the man yelled again. “Hey! Where’s security! This guy’s threatening me!” 

Other patrons were starting to look their way, but James didn’t budge. He barely even blinked. Teresa put her hand on the back of his shoulder, but didn’t say anything. 

“Security!” the man continued to shout. “You have a customer out of line over here!” 

Teresa fisted her hand in the back of James’s jacket. “Let’s just go,” she said quietly. The other guy was a jackass, but he wasn’t worth jeopardizing everything. They were, in fact, only here in town because they were trying to establish an illegal drug cartel stronghold in the city. The more under the radar they could stay, the better. James seemed to understand, because he nodded slightly and turned partly toward her - careful that he was still between her and the beer man and that he still had an eye on the man. 

The man, clearly still annoyed, continued to yell for security. James and Teresa ignored him and moved up in the line to start checking out their items. At one point, they heard the man cough loudly, and Teresa looked around to see multiple other patrons glaring at him, to which the man laughed. 

_ What an asshole _ , Teresa thought. She knew James was thinking the same when he met her eyes and gave her a commiserating look. 

They loaded their items onto the conveyor belt, and James took a few crisp bills out of his wallet to pay. Teresa tried and failed to ignore the scene behind her when a security guard came up to the man with the beer and asked him to leave for failing to follow social distancing requirements. She tried and failed not to laugh when the man started throwing another fit and ranting about “liberals.” 

When their items were bagged up, Teresa excused herself to get the cake while James went to load the bags into the SUV and wait for her. When the baker handed her the cake, Teresa smiled happily. The boys would enjoy this surprise, she was sure. Pote, especially, seemed to need something to improve his mood. 

She thanked the baker, carefully balanced the cake in her arms, and then exited the door they had come in. James had pulled the vehicle up and was waiting for her. When he saw her, he hopped out of the driver’s side and hurried around to open the back door for her so she could set down the cake. 

“Thank you,” she said absently. He nodded behind his sunglasses and she caught him starting to crane his neck to see the cake. “No!” she commanded. “It’s a surprise!” James threw his hands up in front of himself in surrender. Teresa shifted the cake gently into the backseat, then she and James took their seats in the front and James pulled out of the parking lot. 

The scenery passed by them as James drove them toward their temporary home - bright green trees in springtime blooms, mostly barren streets where there usually would have been mild traffic at lunchtime like now, and a crystal blue sky spattered with fluffy clouds. Teresa glanced over at the man beside her. He was completely at ease as he drove, one arm draped across the steering wheel, the other on the arm rest. 

His anger when the man in the store got too close to her or called her names was fresh in her mind. Teresa could take care of herself, but something about him caring enough to want to protect her gave her a warm feeling. “Thank you,” she said lightly, “for trying to defend me in the store.” James glanced at her. “But you know you didn’t have to, right?”

James glanced at her again, this time for a moment longer, then turned back to the road. “Guys like that piss me off.” 

“I know.” She watched him shift slightly in his seat and glance at her again. 

“You know I’d never just stand there while someone talks to you like that. You don’t deserve that.” He looked back at the road again, signaling he had no more to say on the issue. 

The warm feeling returned to her chest while she studied him. Her brave and loyal friend. The man whose scarce smiles were enough to make her lose her breath. The man who would do anything for her (and who already had). Today it was just an overconfident man in a store being rowdy, but not long ago it had been the CIA. He’d risked his  _ life _ to protect her, and he’d almost lost the gamble. 

Affection bubbled up in her throat as she watched him nod his head slightly in tune with the music on the stereo. The light filtering in through the window caught against his soft, dark hair and made the scruffy stubble on his jaw stand out against his olive-colored skin. His sunglasses hid the dark eyes and lashes that haunted her dreams. On impulse, she shifted around her seatbelt so she could lean closer to him. She reached out a hand to rest against his jaw, his stubble prickly but soft just like she remembered, and then pressed her lips against his cheek. 

She felt him suck in a breath, but he remained still. She pulled away as quickly as she had leaned forward. She noticed his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed a breath and his hand tighten into a firm grip on the steering wheel. 

“What was that for?” His voice was a little raspy. He kept his eyes, still hidden behind the dark shades, focused on the road. 

Teresa settled back into her seat, a calm contentment sprinkling through every vein in her body. “I’d never let someone talk to you that way either.” He glanced at her, and she didn’t need to see his eyes to know what was in them. She could feel it. “You know if you showed up at his house, he would probably wet his pants.” 

James barked out a laugh and Teresa echoed it. “He was  _ pretty  _ quick to call for security.” 

“I thought he was about to cry when you told him you’d find him,” Teresa confessed with a light-hearted laugh. 

They spent the rest of the drive back to the house joking about the variety of strange behavior they had witnessed at the grocery store. When they pulled up in front of the house, Teresa sent James ahead inside with the groceries so she could get the cake. She grabbed the plastic packaging, and gently lifted the cake off the back seat. It had turned out quite pretty - white icing with black scrawling penmanship and a few multi-colored icing balloons around the corners for decoration. She walked up the sidewalk and through the front door, which James had left ajar for her. 

“Finally, principessa!” she heard George call from the kitchen as she shut the door behind her with her heel. “Baby Chapo said you came back bearing gifts! Let’s have it!” 

As Teresa got closer, she saw Pote wiping the groceries off with a Clorox wipe and James standing with his hip against the back of the couch and his arms crossed in front of him. Both had their eyes on her. 

“What’s this about a surprise, Teresita?” Pote questioned. “You didn’t go into a crowd for it, right?”

“No, Pote,” she assured him. “Nothing like that. Close your eyes. All of you.”

“I like where this is going!” George yelled, bringing his hands up to cover his eyes. James complied instantly, and Pote joined begrudgingly. Teresa set the cake down on the kitchen island, a central location to where everyone was scattered around the small space. 

“I thought we could use something to help us celebrate,” Teresa explained as she clicked off the plastic lid and set it aside. 

“Celebrate  _ what _ ?” Pote groused. 

Teresa bit her lip. “Open your eyes.” 

The three men did so, crowding closer to get a look at the cake before them. James was the first to let out a laugh. 

“‘We Survived 15 Days At Club Quarantine,’” George read out loud, breaking into a grin. “You outdid yourself, T-Rex. Please tell me it’s chocolate?”

To Teresa’s great relief, even Pote looked amused. “Surviving this place is definitely worth a celebration.” 

Teresa smiled at her familia. “I know it’s been hard to be cooped up together all this time, but if I had to be quarantined with anyone, I’m glad it is with all of you.” 

“Teresita,” Pote answered, affection evident in his voice. 

George stretched his arms wide. “Now you’ve got me feeling some kind of way! Bring it in! Group hug, fam!”

Teresa laughed and walked around the kitchen island and into George’s outstretched arms - dragging a grumbling Pote with her. 

“You too, Giant Peach!” George called over his shoulder. 

“I’m good.” 

“Get in here!” George demanded at the same time as Teresa called “James, come on!” with a laugh. Reluctantly, James stepped forward and spread his stiff arms out to complete the circle between George and Pote. “There! Was that so hard? Now let’s get some cake!” George hollered. 

Teresa watched as her boys, her family, started chatting while getting out plates and forks. Pote stepped up to cut slices of cake and place them on the plates. James passed her the first plate. They ate cake for lunch - Pote’s enchiladas saved for supper; they talked; they laughed; they enjoyed themselves for the first time in a few days. The tension from the morning was broken. 

These men were her family, and every family sometimes had moments they drove one another crazy. But she loved them just the same and wouldn’t trade them for the world. Today, day 15 of the quarantine, had started out rough, but now? 

Now she felt like maybe she  _ could _ survive day 16. As long as she had her familia, she could get through anything. 

  
  



End file.
